Okay, George had missed work yesterday. When your roommate was your boss, that probably gave you a pass on getting fired, right? Seifer didn't seem all that strict
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Okay. Jeremy had been meaning to come to Apathy Club last week, he really had. But, see, then he'd decided he wanted to bring flowers, except he'd had a hard time deciding on the kind of flower, and then it'd already been late. And then he'd been a kid for the weekend. And then this week, he'd had trouble getting the kind of box of chocolates he wanted and it had just been generally a huge mess that would've probably made for a great sitcom episode.
But, today. Today he had it together. He had flowers. Boy, did he have flowers. His bouquet was made up of 27 roses: 12 blue, 12 black, and then two purple and one red in the middle, because he hadn't wanted to go super traditional because George didn't seem like a super traditional kind of girl, but then he'd panicked about not knowing her favorite color and what if she was expecting tradition after all? So. Blue, black, purple, and just a little bit of traditional red it was.
He also had a box of chocolates. Yes, a fabric-covered one, with Swarovski elements on it. Yup, he had flowers and he had chocolates, all right.
He also had no hands left with which to knock and signal his arrival. He had to resort to clearing his throat.
George was ... just kind of lolling on the bed, not very gracefully, and looked up to see Jeremy ...
Holy fucking shit.
She could barely even make out Jeremy behind all of the motherfucking flowers (roses?!) and he had fucking chocolates and okay she was wearing like fucking flannel and she hadn't done her hair or anything. Not that her hair ever did anything but like she would have liked to pretend to make it behave instead of just lying here on her ass if he was going to fucking show up like this and ... and ...
"Fuck," she said. Helpfully. Before actually getting up and maybe helping him with the pile of roses. Roses?! No one ever brought her roses. People brought Daisy roses. Guys. Guys she had blown. Like Clark Gable.
No, Daisy's roses were red, or white, or pink. The roses were ... were blue and black and purple and ... and kind of punk rock. So. So these were for her.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
"... hi?" she offered. Um. That would be helpful. She hadn't said that yet, had she? Um.
"Hi," Jeremy agreed, because he hadn't said that yet either, and it was a really good start, wasn't it?
"These are for you," he added, as he was carefully shifting the bouquet to her. "You know, I really should've had these delivered." Because really, it was a hugely awkward bouquet to carry, as pretty as it was. "But then I wouldn't have been here."
George took the bouquet, careful not to drop them. And. And then she gave herself a moment to close her eyes and just breathe them in. They were hers. They were for her. They were amazing and weird and awesome and he was here, and he'd brought them for her.
"They're incredible," she said, very softly. "I -- I'm glad you're here. If you want to be. If -- if you just wanted to drop them off and say hi or whatever and then bail again, that's ... that's okay too. If you ... are still ... if things are still weird. I mean. I'd ... understand."
This was an important distinction. It was why she hadn't kissed him yet.
Jeremy shook his head. "I'm not bailing. I have chocolates!" Those things weren't even remotely connected, so he was quick to add, "Uh, I mean, that's not why I'm not bailing."
He needed to take a little breath, here, too. His gaze slid towards the floor for the moment as he searched for the words he'd supposedly had figured out earlier. Once he found some of them, he looked up again, sincere.
"Look, George," he said, "I'm cool with the whole thing. I... I don't care. You're alive enough for me and I don't care about the rest. Our date was maximum. So..." He spread his hands (one still holding the chocolates), as if to say it couldn't be helped. "I want more of those. I totally do."
He ... did have chocolates. She had totally noticed those. She was just. Trying to. Process one thing at a time and ... and he was lucky she didn't just drop the bouquet right now. She wasn't going to. She was. She was going to set it down on her desk really really carefully.
Because he was saying ... really really amazing things and she should ... come up with some amazing things of her own, about how she understood and he could take steps back if he needed to and it was weird and --
"I do, too," she said. "I ... I'm not good at this, but -- it's been ... awesome, just ... and ... and the whole ..."
Yeah, okay, the hell with it, she was just going to kiss him now.
Jeremy could totally deal with that. Words were hard, he knew that from his complete failure at smoothness. This, though? This he could do, the whole kissing thing. He could be smooth with that. He could even move one arm to wrap around her waist and tug her a little closer, while he still awkwardly held the chocolates with his other hand.
Although he pretty much considered a hundred dollars loose change, it was a really nice box and he wanted it to stay that way for her.
Plus, it was getting him kissed, and that was always awesome.
Both her arms were around his neck as she leaned into the kiss. She had missed him. She had missed this. It should worry her, she didn't like caring about people. Well, she didn't use to, but Fandom kind of -- oh! One of his hands was -- holding something?
Right right right the chocolates. Okay she was going to disentangle herself (very, very reluctantly) and actually look at them.
"... you ... you kind of went all out, didn't you?" she said, running her fingers over the box lid. It was ... all ... super-fancy and stuff. "I ..."
Jeremy gave her an easy little smile, though perhaps a little softer than usual. "I wanted to make a point," he shrugged, like it was no big deal. And, considering he had a very poor grasp on the value of money, maybe it wasn't. But he had gone through a lot of trouble to get exactly what he'd wanted for her.
"Wanted to make sure you got what I was trying to say."
George took the box from him, carefully, looking at the ... holy shit there were like little fake crystal-things on the lid. How much money did you have to spend on a box of chocolates before they put fake crystal things on the lid?
"Flowers and chocolates are ... I thought that was, like, guy speak for 'sorry, I fucked up,'" she said. "But ... you don't ... have to apologize. I mean."
Wait.
"Which ... is why if you weren't ... meaning to apologize, that's absolutely normal and I didn't take it as one," she said, "because ... you don't ... have anything to apologize for, and if this is just a suck-up bouquet or whatever, it's ... a really awesome suck-up bouquet, and how about I shut up now?"
Jeremy chuckled quietly, and now that his hands were free of gifts, she reached out to push some of her hair away from her face. "It's probably a suck-up bouquet," he admitted. "I don't think anyone screwed up."
He wasn't going to say 'fucked up'. It just wasn't done on an ABC primetime soap in the Darling family. He didn't mind it from her, tough; it just made her all the more... special, somehow.
"Or maybe it's just a 'hey, let's keep doing this thing' bouquet, y'know?"
Swearing was practically -- no, okay, it wasn't a hobby for all of the Lass family. George's mom thought the word "moist" was pornographic, for fuck's sake. But the kids made up for the parents, and then some.
She leaned into his touch, easily. "Maybe it's a 'here's a bouquet, let's make-out' bouquet,'" she offered, with a teasing smile. "Orrrrr a 'check it out, big sale on flowers today' bouquet. Or 'I, Jeremy Darling, happen to be awesome and wanted to give you a heads-up on that' bouquet."
He laughed again, tracing the edge of her earlobe with his fingertips, before said fingertips traveled idly down to her jawline.
"I don't think that can be covered with a bouquet," he smirked. "At least I hope it takes more than flowers to say that. No, I think they're more like... 'I, Jeremy Darling, happen to like you, George Lass, here are some flowers'."
Wow, was he trying to make her shiver? Because she was shivering, all over, every time his fingers brushed over her skin like that.
"Okay," she said, "so, uh, I ... I wanna add, then, that I ... George Lass, happen to like you, Jeremy Darling, and I'm kinda ... shocked that you're here, but like in a really good way? And I didn't get any flowers, so, um. What's ... a good way of ... showing it?"
Her fingers had found the front of his shirt and were playing idly with the material. "I could make some kind of a banner but I suck at art."
Jeremy shook his head, just barely. "I don't think I need a banner," he said, with a glance down at her hands, and a smile. "I think I've sorta got it figured out without one. But there's one thing you could do..."
Which was kissing. Which he was taking initiative for, this time, soft but so very definitely present in the moment.
And here she had been worried that might be an uncreative answer. She was lucky he didn't grade harshly for uniqueness of ideas or -- um -- whatever the fuck she was rambling on about this time. She closed her eyes and her fingers tugged him closer, as she tilted her head up to meet his. He was warm, his lips were soft, and she felt like she could float away. She begged the chattery part of her brain to just shut the fuck up and let her enjoy this.
After some blessed silence, the chattery part of her brain felt it necessary to point out that the door was still open. George decided she didn't care. If anyone felt the need to gather in the hallway and watch her make out with Jeremy, they could go right ahead. Feel free. Charge admission. Film it. Have a blast.
But, today. Today he had it together. He had flowers. Boy, did he have flowers. His bouquet was made up of 27 roses: 12 blue, 12 black, and then two purple and one red in the middle, because he hadn't wanted to go super traditional because George didn't seem like a super traditional kind of girl, but then he'd panicked about not knowing her favorite color and what if she was expecting tradition after all? So. Blue, black, purple, and just a little bit of traditional red it was.
He also had a box of chocolates. Yes, a fabric-covered one, with Swarovski elements on it. Yup, he had flowers and he had chocolates, all right.
He also had no hands left with which to knock and signal his arrival. He had to resort to clearing his throat.
"Uh, George?"
He'd had smoother entrance lines planned.
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Holy fucking shit.
She could barely even make out Jeremy behind all of the motherfucking flowers (roses?!) and he had fucking chocolates and okay she was wearing like fucking flannel and she hadn't done her hair or anything. Not that her hair ever did anything but like she would have liked to pretend to make it behave instead of just lying here on her ass if he was going to fucking show up like this and ... and ...
"Fuck," she said. Helpfully. Before actually getting up and maybe helping him with the pile of roses. Roses?! No one ever brought her roses. People brought Daisy roses. Guys. Guys she had blown. Like Clark Gable.
No, Daisy's roses were red, or white, or pink. The roses were ... were blue and black and purple and ... and kind of punk rock. So. So these were for her.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
"... hi?" she offered. Um. That would be helpful. She hadn't said that yet, had she? Um.
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"These are for you," he added, as he was carefully shifting the bouquet to her. "You know, I really should've had these delivered." Because really, it was a hugely awkward bouquet to carry, as pretty as it was. "But then I wouldn't have been here."
And that would've defeated the whole purpose.
"I, uh, hope you like them."
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"They're incredible," she said, very softly. "I -- I'm glad you're here. If you want to be. If -- if you just wanted to drop them off and say hi or whatever and then bail again, that's ... that's okay too. If you ... are still ... if things are still weird. I mean. I'd ... understand."
This was an important distinction. It was why she hadn't kissed him yet.
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He needed to take a little breath, here, too. His gaze slid towards the floor for the moment as he searched for the words he'd supposedly had figured out earlier. Once he found some of them, he looked up again, sincere.
"Look, George," he said, "I'm cool with the whole thing. I... I don't care. You're alive enough for me and I don't care about the rest. Our date was maximum. So..." He spread his hands (one still holding the chocolates), as if to say it couldn't be helped. "I want more of those. I totally do."
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Because he was saying ... really really amazing things and she should ... come up with some amazing things of her own, about how she understood and he could take steps back if he needed to and it was weird and --
"I do, too," she said. "I ... I'm not good at this, but -- it's been ... awesome, just ... and ... and the whole ..."
Yeah, okay, the hell with it, she was just going to kiss him now.
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Although he pretty much considered a hundred dollars loose change, it was a really nice box and he wanted it to stay that way for her.
Plus, it was getting him kissed, and that was always awesome.
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Right right right the chocolates. Okay she was going to disentangle herself (very, very reluctantly) and actually look at them.
"... you ... you kind of went all out, didn't you?" she said, running her fingers over the box lid. It was ... all ... super-fancy and stuff. "I ..."
She had no idea what to even say. Wow.
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"Wanted to make sure you got what I was trying to say."
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"Flowers and chocolates are ... I thought that was, like, guy speak for 'sorry, I fucked up,'" she said. "But ... you don't ... have to apologize. I mean."
Wait.
"Which ... is why if you weren't ... meaning to apologize, that's absolutely normal and I didn't take it as one," she said, "because ... you don't ... have anything to apologize for, and if this is just a suck-up bouquet or whatever, it's ... a really awesome suck-up bouquet, and how about I shut up now?"
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He wasn't going to say 'fucked up'. It just wasn't done on an ABC primetime soap in the Darling family. He didn't mind it from her, tough; it just made her all the more... special, somehow.
"Or maybe it's just a 'hey, let's keep doing this thing' bouquet, y'know?"
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She leaned into his touch, easily. "Maybe it's a 'here's a bouquet, let's make-out' bouquet,'" she offered, with a teasing smile. "Orrrrr a 'check it out, big sale on flowers today' bouquet. Or 'I, Jeremy Darling, happen to be awesome and wanted to give you a heads-up on that' bouquet."
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"I don't think that can be covered with a bouquet," he smirked. "At least I hope it takes more than flowers to say that. No, I think they're more like... 'I, Jeremy Darling, happen to like you, George Lass, here are some flowers'."
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"Okay," she said, "so, uh, I ... I wanna add, then, that I ... George Lass, happen to like you, Jeremy Darling, and I'm kinda ... shocked that you're here, but like in a really good way? And I didn't get any flowers, so, um. What's ... a good way of ... showing it?"
Her fingers had found the front of his shirt and were playing idly with the material. "I could make some kind of a banner but I suck at art."
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Which was kissing. Which he was taking initiative for, this time, soft but so very definitely present in the moment.
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After some blessed silence, the chattery part of her brain felt it necessary to point out that the door was still open. George decided she didn't care. If anyone felt the need to gather in the hallway and watch her make out with Jeremy, they could go right ahead. Feel free. Charge admission. Film it. Have a blast.
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